


Unravelled

by aboraxas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Politics, Eventual Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), F/M, Gen, Merril/fenris friendship, Multi, No guns!, Tiny Cakes, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Wyverns, bomb diffusion, there's a bomb!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboraxas/pseuds/aboraxas
Summary: The Exalted Council is a meeting that happens every ten years to determine the status of unregistered organizations and groups across Thedas-- from circles to hunting conglomerates, this meeting determines who retains their independence and who has to pledge their allegiance.Clan Lavellan has only one delegate and she has to represent all of the Dalish clans in Thedas and fight to keep their way of life alive.No pressure or anything.Solavellan fic, politics and protags galore! Eventual smut
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Hawke/Everyone, Female Hawke/Isabela, Female Hawke/Merrill, Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Words that went unsaid

Aria should have thought nothing of the bald man in the cream sweater.

She glanced at him, noting the sharpness of his jawline and the smoothness of his head. He returned her glance with a look of his own. Nothing more. As soon as their eyes met, he turns his back on her immediately.

 _Do I know him?_ She shakes the thought away from her mind, she has more pressing issues to tackle.

The Exalted Council is a two weeklong conference that happens every ten years to determine the status of organizations and groups that live in Thedas but aren’t affiliated with any Thedosian country. To put it bluntly, it is meant to bully said organizations and groups into joining their governments—which may be fine for the groups of mages living on the outskirts of civilization, but for the Dalish? Wholly unacceptable, after nearly two centuries of oppression and two instances of genocide. 20,000 Dalish lives were taken in the last conflict (two million in the first battle)—dwindling their numbers down to a measly five hundred. The smallest city in Thedas has double that population.

Aria’s job is to make sure that doesn’t happen again to the Dalish, to all the remaining Dalish, _and_ make sure that they retain their independence from the state. The taxes alone will put all the clans in the red. Their way of life and customs, that can all change in the blink of an eye: the Dalish could make just one wrong move before finding their full body and face tattoos criminalized, their aravels (what they travel and live in, their home and culture) dismantled— all because some bureaucrat with issues decided the elves are a problem. Though they can’t just call for an exalted march without reason anymore thanks to the Nevarra Convention—

Aria hears a cough coming from behind her. 

She turns and meets the gaze of the bald man in the cream sweater. Aria smiles weakly at him. _When did he catch up to me?_ _Are we headed toward the same place?_

May I help you?” She asks, turning around to face him as she pulls the folder closer to her chest. Her shoes click and clack against the marble floors. 

“My name is Solas, if there are to be any introductions. Are you with the Dalish delegation?” He says in a voice that sounds familiar to her the way he spoke sounds like he’s Dalish, who flip their r’s and speak with a lilt. 

“ _I_ am technically the Dalish delegation.” She says, her back straightening as she speaks. “My name is Arialora Lavellan. Are you with the chantry?” 

He chuckles, “No. I doubt the church, or the rebel mages, would have patience for a hedge mage who studies the world past the veil-- so I am with no formal association.”

Aria relaxes. As prepared as she is to handle politicians, it is refreshing to speak with someone who is (for lack of a better word) a nerd.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She says and he smiles and nods, “If you aren’t with the chantry or the governments, then why are you here?”

“I am here as a researcher on the manipulations of the fade—politics has an impact on the world beyond the waking. Every movement, gesture, and feeling are felt and echoes in the fade.” He says and pauses briefly before adding, “But I doubt that you came here for a lecture on the subject.” 

Aria smiles, “No, but I am a mage as well. If you have a lecture prepared, I wouldn’t mind hearing it.” 

The hedge mage turns his head down as he smiles, “Perhaps another time. I simply wanted to put a name to the face to the hero meant to save us all.” He gestures down the hallway, towards the chamber and the two begin their descent and Aria laughs.

“A hero? Am I riding in on a silver steed?” Laugh as she will, she still feels a little unsettled.

"I would have suggested a griffon—but no matter. I’m sure that you have more important things to do than to speak with me.” He smiles at her again, and she smiles back, genuinely. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Solas. We can speak later, if you’d like—I wouldn’t mind hearing more about your research.” The two of them stop walking as they reach the end of the chamber.

"Thank you. In truth, I wouldn’t mind hearing more from you as well.” He says, putting his hands behind his back. “Good luck, Arialora Lavellan. I hope your words reach them.”

He gives her one last smile, and heads inside of the chamber. Aria looks at his back, and wonders if she can reach them too.

* * *

“An elven savage! In front of the empress, and the monarchs of Ferelden? The humanity! Even the viscounts shouldn’t stand for this treachery!” A ginger haired man cries from in front of the stage to a young woman in a mint peacoat.

“Hush! Ingle, do not question the divine’s judgement.” The young woman says in a significantly quieter volume than her companion.

“This was the Divine’s decision? I would never dare question the Most Holy, but I just do not see how one of those—what do you call them? Dullish?”

“Dalish, Ingle.” Another voice says.

“Andraste’s tits, Christophe, keep it down!” The young woman hisses.

“The Dalish, why would the Dalish be here?”

“Perhaps,” A voice with a heavy accent says to the much louder man, “The Dalish seek more civilized conditions and government. Orlais would be more than happy to restore the Dales to their former state, if we could preside over them.”

“Of course! But, oh my they’re going to lose their entire way of life if they join.” Says the loud and portly man, now suddenly sympathetic to the plight of the elves.

Arialora coughs. The man looks as though he is about to jump out of his skin.

“Excuse me, I have to get by.” She says, moving past the large man—ignoring the pungent order that is emitting from his skin. Aria may not appreciate all those in attendance of the Exalted Council, but she _is_ grateful that most of them have committed to some type of hygiene. Her posture stiffens as the whispers continue, echoing throughout the palace. The Divine was most certainly gracious in allowing a Dalish presence at the Exalted Council at all—but that doesn’t mean that she’s going to do Aria any favors during one of the world’s most dangerous convention. 

Aria reaches the backstage. The whispers stopped as soon as she set foot near the check in area—at least some of the people at the council possessed some restraint. She sticks her chin up in the air and took a deep breath. The velvety voice of the announcer rings in her ears.

“Orlais thanks you for your attendance and cooperation.” One of the two Orlesian delegates present on stage said from behind the podium. “On behalf of the Empress, her majesty Celene de Chalons, we’d like to congratulate the following groups on becoming apart of the Orlesian empire: The Ostwick Circle, the Hatton’s Point Circle, The DeBoard Mage Association, and the bow hunters from the wilds in the Dales.”

“Though clearly, there are some who use bow and arrows that don’t wish to join more civilized walks of life.” A voice from behind Arialora says snidely. She tries to keep her composure—slowly, she takes deep breaths and count to ten. Aria turns her attention back to the speaker, an olive-skinned woman dressed in fine clothing with a silver mask that covered nearly half her face and the tips of her ears. The man next to her is dressed completely differently—gold lions embroidered in the back of his suit and his face covered by a gold mask, which mimic the features of a smiling man with a trim moustache. 

Cheers erupt from the crowd, and the male Orlesian delegate waves a gloved hand in the air as the noise dies down.

“We, of Orlais, understand that it may be difficult to transition—but clearly the rewards are plenty. A month ago, a half elf student was accepted into the University of Orlais—without any noble sponsorship!” The woman says.

More cheers came from the crowd as Aria’s heart sinks—a half elf? They look like any ordinary human; she can’t even imagine the difficulty that a fully elven student would have trying to get into a research institution like Orlais’.

“Now we’d like to call to the stage Arialora Lavellan of Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches for the debate portion of the evening.” She continues, “Mademoiselle Lavellan will be representing _all_ of the Dalish clans in Thedas.”

“Joining her on behalf of the Free Marches is bestselling author and Viscount of Kirkwall, Varric Tethras.” Says the man in the gold mask, his voice sounds hoarse and rich through the speakers.

The crowd claps politely as Arialora and the Viscount make their way to their respective tables. The Viscount is an auburn haired dwarven man, wearing a dark red suit and a gold embroidered shirt with the top three buttons undone— the unruly hairs on his chest spilled over the rich looking fabric. 

Arialora thinks that it looks very majestic.

“And now,” The male speaker says warmly, “For some general house keeping rules!”

The rhythmic and hollow sound of her heels hitting the rug act as a small metronome as Aria walks towards the table on the left-hand side of the stage. As she draws closer to the table, where she notices the presence of a small envelope with a bright red sticky note slapped onto it sitting on her chair. As she takes her seat, she reads the note on the envelope as discreetly as possible.

_Written in a neat scrawl with black ink:_

_“Mademoiselle Lavellan,_

_We have yet to meet—but there are more pressing issues to tackle now. There are forces that would like to destroy the work that you have yet to present. Please remain calm and keep this envelope with you. You will be excused from the debate shortly. Please follow Varric through the chaos._

_Yours,  
Nightingale” _

Just as she finishes reading the nightingale’s note, all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like my first fic ever, but technically that honor belongs to "Cards". 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'll try to schedule updates for every Saturday at around 11pm PST! Thanks to @lmao_thunder for help editing <3 you are the best and sexiest roommate.
> 
> UPDATE:   
> I reread this, and wanted to make some changes! I had to kill some darlings in this chapter :^(


	2. Words Spoken in A Whisper-- Before Pierced by An Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arialora is excused from the World's Worst Conference Ever only to receive an offer that she can't refuse, Varric pries into people's personal lives (again), and a couple of our favorite characters make an appearance-- some for the second time in this fic. 
> 
> Violence ahead! Kinda.

A scream pierces the room, and the crowd gasps as the uproar begins.

The male Orlesian ambassador quickly turns to face Aria and Varric, the two of them quickly glance at one another as the audience’s chairs crash before clattering to the ground. The ambassador turns his head back and forth between Aria and Varric, as if to look the two of them over for an ounce of guilt as the female Orlesian ambassador quickly begins to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” She says loudly into the microphone over the noise and she grips the podium, “Please stay calm and exit the building in an orderly—”   
“A wyvern!” A voice screams shrilly, “A wyvern is loose in the hall! Oh, my goodness, it is going to kill us all!”

“Briala, we don’t have time for your petty acts of diplomacy!” The male Orlesian ambassador hisses to the woman at the podium. He runs behind the stage and emerges with a sword and shield. Weapons in hand, the ambassador begins making his way down the stage and to the hall. Three men in masks like his own flank him in pursuit of the recently announced terror.

“Gaspard!” The woman shouts angrily, covering the head of the microphone. She shakes her head and begins to speak in a desperate attempt to soothe the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Briala says confidently, “Duke Gaspard De Chalons is going to handle the situation. If you could please take your seats—we will send martial representatives to fight the beast and avoid as much of its poison as is possible.”

Arialora watches the chaos proceed from the back of the stage, gripping her folder and holding it closely to her chest. Suddenly she feels a hand grip her wrist and as she looks down, she discovers that Varric Tethras’ hand over her own.

“I believe that this is the wrong time to make a move, Viscount.” She says dryly over the shouts of the crowd.

“We have to go!” He says, still gripping her wrist he walks past the curtains and rushes through the busy backstage. Arialora trails alongside him, looking at the faces full of fear and listens to their screams and whimpers.

“We can’t just leave them here, who is going to protect them?!” She says, trying to yank her arm back, to no avail. 

“Maker… c’mon!” He stops in front of the door and leans in, “You got the nightingale’s message, yeah?”

Aria’s blood runs cold and she stops trying to get her wrist back. She looks at him pointedly and he nods.

“Mythal’s tits,” Aria breathes, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Kid, haven’t you seen a movie? This just how the spy shit works.” Varric says as he grabs the doorknob with his other hand. Aria runs her hands through her hair and kicks off her heels. Varric opens the door and grabs her shoes, and waves to her. She stares at him with an incredulous expression on her face and he grabs her wrist again.

“Shartan’s balls, what the fu—”

“Hey!” he says as he rushes in front of her, moving surprisingly quickly for someone so stout, “You’re still in a church kid. And I’m pretty sure just thinking about Shartan will get you in trouble so keep it down—the last thing we need is more people looking at the two of us.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” She snaps, gesturing to the chaos around them.

“Touché.” Varric says.

The two of them make their way up another flight of stairs, and Varric makes a sharp left into another corridor—the walls are smooth and grey, iconography of Andraste singing to the Maker lines the walls. The corridor finally ends, and the two arrive in front of an ordinary wooden door with a black knob and a peephole that’s sitting near the top of Aria’s head. Varric lets go of her wrist and immediately gets out a token from his pocket before knocking on the door twice and looking at Aria to give her a wink.

“So, what do _you_ do normally?” He asks as they wait for a response from the other side of the door. “I can’t imagine that they raise politicians in the Dalish. If so, I think you guys need to talk to my friend Daisy. She’s not so good at that kind of stuff.”

Aria blinks at him, clearly not expecting that kind of question.

“I’m a First and our clans’ healer.” She says, finally. “I was sent here because I saved all of the clans’ heads once from a dragon during the harhen’al.” Varric raises an eyebrow at her.

“With help.” She adds.

“Well, Nurse.” Varric says as he straightens his posture, “Remind me not to get on your bad side. But what does dragon slaying have to do with diplomacy?”

The door opens, revealing a slender ginger haired woman in a form fitting mauve dress. A dark haired and stern-faced woman with a scar over the left side of her cheek stands behind her, dressed in a charcoal outfit for battle. Both women stood at least half a head taller than Aria.

“You’re late.” The dark-haired woman says curtly. Her voice is distinctly Nevarran—and a sword is sitting on her hip and a shield is on her back. Arialora eyes the sharpness of the woman’s jawline, a heavy and faded scar on her left cheek, and the way her brown eyes stand out because of her smoky make up style. The woman next to her chuckles, and cocks a hip as she stretches a hand out towards Varric—and Aria can’t help but stare at the impossible smoothness of the woman’s skin, and the shine in her hair.

“Yeah, hello to you too Seeker.” Varric grumbles, putting the coin in the ginger’s outstretched palm. He hands Aria’s shoes back to her and enters the room. Aria sheepishly slips on her shoes before darting up to smile at the women. 

“Lavellan it is good to meet you.” The ginger says as she extends a hand towards her, “My name is Leliana, but you may already know me as the Nightingale. I am the left hand of the Divine.”

Aria shakes her hand and the seeker nods at her. “I am Cassandra Pentaghast, a seeker and the right hand of the Divine.”

“Hi,” Aria says letting go of the nightingale’s hand. The pair gesture for Aria to enter the room—which in all honesty looks like a dungeon. Leliana and Cassandra walk over to a table where neat piles of maps and folders lay next to a couple of glasses of water—the two settle down next to one another and Varric.

Varric had already made himself comfortable, sitting in a chair with the air of someone who had every right to be here. At some point he propped his feet up on the table and as Aria glances around the room, they meet eyes and he taps a hand on the chair next to him, inviting her over to his side. Arialora accepts his invitation and takes a seat—and Leliana clears her throat before speaking.

“I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but it was necessary.” She says as she shuffles some papers around. “As we said earlier, the two of us work for the Divine—reaching where she cannot.”

“We have reason to believe that a bomb has been planted here at the temple of sacred ashes by a Tevinter magister.” Cassandra says grimly, “We need you to stop it.”

“What?” Aria says, and the paper on the table is startled as she slams her palms on the table, “Why haven’t you alerted the nations? Why haven’t you evacuated everybody?”

“We are.” Cassandra says, “Several volunteers are working to evacuate the council as quickly as possible.”

“You coordinated the wyvern attack.” She says quietly and Cassandra nods.

“Leliana’s work, no doubt.” Cassandra says as she darts a look at the ginger, who crosses her arms.

“Hey, she had some help!” Varric says.

“Duke de Vieux’s _pet_ was not going stay here long without making a scene, regardless of his assurances that it was safe.” Leliana says sternly. “Justinia wanted it gone and Hawke volunteered to take it down.”

  
Cassandra narrows her eyes and Leliana pinches the bridge of her nose before she responds. 

“Cullen and Trevelyan are with them! They’ll be _fine_ , Cassandra.” Leliana insists.

“Don’t worry Seeker, Hawke is great at killing things. In fact, we’ve killed a duke’s wyvern before.” Varric adds, “And we help people sometimes too!”

Cassandra glares at Varric and opens her mouth to speak. 

“We do not know who to hold responsible.” Leliana says to Aria, interrupting what no doubt was going to be another squabble, “You would need to find whoever planted the bomb and help us bring them to justice—if you do the Divine is willing to assist in granting independence to the Dalish in Thedas.”

Aria’s mind begins to race, the sudden impact of the situation and the Divine’s offer began to swim with her feelings of anxiety and fear—what makes any of them so sure that she can handle this?

“Why me?”

“You are one of the few who can help.” Cassandra says simply.

“You have experience with high stress situations, no past record of criminal activities, and you are a mage of no small talent.” Leliana says as she flips through a folder with Aria’s name scrawled in a clumsier script than the note Aria received earlier. “The Divine was impressed when she caught wind of your successful dragon slaying.”

“I had _help_.” Aria says, exasperated, and Cassandra chuckles—finally smiling.

“I know that feeling well.” Cassandra says.

“If you do this, you could help your people in ways that you couldn’t before,” Leliana says, “Justinia will know to trust you and your judgement. Wherever it is you wish to steer your people, she can help you get there.”

“Where is the Divine?” Varric asks, raising a brow at the seeker and spy.

“The Divine is currently meeting with the Empress and monarchs of Ferelden, Antiva, and Nevarra.” Cassandra answers. “She will be escorted off the premises when Lavellan makes her decision.”

Stunned, Aria doesn’t answer when the Seeker says her name. In fact, Aria is baffled by all the attention she’s received in the past minutes, much less the past half an hour.

How does one go from being called an Elven savage to being asked to save them all?

“I can’t do this on my own.” Aria says, finally, after a moment of silence. She lifts her head up from her palms and straightens her posture. “I don’t know how to diffuse a bomb, and why does it matter than I’m a mage?”

“Don’t sweat the bomb stuff, Nurse. I’ve got that covered.” Varric says, reassuringly.

“Varric is an artificer, one who is skilled in the art of traps and detonation.” Leliana explains, “He will go with you, and so will the Seeker and another agent.”

“I’m only going along to keep an eye on the three of you.” Cassandra says, “Despite your qualifications, you will need my help.”

“Shouldn’t you be protecting the Divine instead?” Aria asks.

“This _is_ protecting the Divine.” Cassandra says sternly, she stands up and begins highlighting positions on the map as Leliana quickly speaks. 

“The arcane expert who discovered the bomb—"

“You mean the apostate.” Cassandra says, frowning as Leliana continues.

“He noted that he doesn’t have the power alone to stop it. He needs the assistance from someone who understands Elven magic techniques, and we need someone whose motivations that we can trust. All our people are busy trying to get everybody out. You are literally the only one who can help.” Leliana says.

“The bomb is located in the room where the ashes were once held.” Cassandra says, pointing to a location outside of the temple, but still on its grounds. “The bomb is set to detonate in approximately four hours and its blast radius will be so large that it could level the mountain. While Leliana works with two of our organization’s advisors to evacuate the temple, I will assist you with the task of detonating it safely.”

“Though four hours sounds like a lot of time, we do not know who planted it and if they are still on the grounds.” Leliana warns, “You will be given everything that you need to succeed. My agents even retrieved your robes and a staff from your quarters.” Cassandra stands to retrieve a trunk from underneath the table and opens it to reveal Aria’s keeper robes and the white oak staff that she brought along with her for the journey.

“Well Nurse, you were prepared for emergencies, weren’t you?” Varric says as he elbows her and laughs. Aria chuckles awkwardly and reaches for her things.

“I think it’d be kind of stupid of me to say no, right?” Aria says as the Seeker raises a brow at her, “Alright, I’ll help. What do I have to do?”

All three of the other people in the room smile, and just as Leliana is about to speak, there is a knock on the door. Cassandra walks over to it and looks through the peephole.

“It is the apostate.” She says dryly.

Leliana scoffs.

“Then open it Cassandra.” She says, “Like it or not, we need him.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and opens the door as she steps aside to allow the new addition to their party to enter the room. Aria probably should have seen this coming.

“Hello again, Solas.”

* * *

“Greetings, Seeker Pentaghast, Nightingale, Master Tethras, and Ms. Lavellan.” Solas says politely, holding his hands behind his back.

He is dressed differently; now clad in some sort of dark green leather jacket and form fitting dark canvas pants. He still had a cream sweater on underneath the jacket—as if he went to Walmart and picked out two nerdy sweaters, in different colors, for the price of one. A wolf’s jawbone hangs from a sturdy piece of string around his neck and small leather laptop bag and staff is strapped to his back.

“Hey, chuckles! Ready to get this show on the road?” Varric says with a little wave of his hand. Solas nods again and takes a seat at the table, setting down his bag and staff on the ground.

“Chuckles, meet Lavellan.” Varric says, “Lavellan this is—”

“We’ve met.” Aria says, smiling.

“It’s good to see you again.” She says to Solas.

“And you as well, Ms. Lavellan.” He says, returning her smile.

“Lavellan, you may change in the room over.” Cassandra say, “Leliana and I will coordinate a route for the Divine’s escape while you get ready.”

Aria nods and gathers her things to leave. She doesn’t turn back to look at Solas or anyone else, and it takes her ten minutes to get changed and ready. By the time she returns and opens the door, Varric has changed into leathers and is holding a crossbow, Solas and Cassandra are ready to go and Leliana is on the phone, giving commands in Orlesian and common.

“I’m ready.” She says, and Cassandra nods—prompting her out the door again and through the hallway. As Cassandra passes her, she hands her an earpiece.

“Just in case we are separated.” Cassandra explains as Aria places the device in her ear. “Though let’s try to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She adds.

The men follow the Seeker and Aria, and the four of them make their way inside of the temple, walking through the snakelike corridors before they find themselves outside in the snow. Aria can hear the commotion on the other side, as the crowd’s panic echoes into the valley. A voice, much louder than the rest, yells—telling the crowd to get into the lifts to get down the mountain—and Varric smiles.

“You can always count on Aveline.” Aria hears Varric say in her ear as the group shuffles through the snow.

“The guard captain sounds quite efficient!” Solas says. “How _did_ the champion of Kirkwall and their group make it to the temple?”

“Oh, Chuckles that’s a long story.” Varric responds.

“This hike may take some time to get through, given the weather. I encourage you to tell it.”

“You see, it all started when Cassandra stabbed my book—”

“This channel is to be used for _mission related communications_ only.” Cassandra’s voice says harshly. “Not for more of the Viscount’s _lies_.”

“Oh, so you didn’t interrogate me, stab my book, and kidnap me so that I can tell the Divine that Hawke _didn’t_ murder the old viscount, save the town from misguided Qunari, and Anders didn’t cause the explosion at the chantry?” Varric says, throwing his hands up in the air as Aria raises a brow. “And then Hawke _didn’t_ show up at an event that could’ve gotten them arrested on sight, just to save their favorite dwarf from getting mangled at your hands?”

Aria doesn’t hear anything else come from the comms, she looks over at Cassandra—who is glaring furiously at the snow ahead.

“I have already apologized to you and the Champion, Dwarf.” Cassandra says, “What more do you want?”

“Bah, this isn’t even worth it.” Varric says with a sigh. “Anyway, that’s the story Chuckles.”

* * *

The four of them walk as fast as they can through the snow—and nearly forty-five minutes later they finally arrive at the steps of the building named “Andraste’s Rest”. The group climbs up the stairs. When they reach the top, Cassandra presses her hand to a pad next to a giant wooden door, which is covered in wrought iron. The touchscreen glows and grants them entry—opening the door.

“Hey, can’t you check the logs of that thing to see who else signed in?” Varric asks as they enter. Cassandra sighs.

“I do not have the authority. Only the head of IT and the Divine have access to that information.” She explains quietly. “Perhaps you should relay that request to Leliana. I’m sure she has some way around it.”

“Got it.” He says, and quickly begins to text the spy.

When the Hero of Ferelden discovered the temple nearly ten years ago, it was in complete disarray—whole columns collapsed, arches missing an entire half, the floors chipped and cracked. Dragons lived here at one point, and doors were scorched. Carcasses found in the areas where the Warden encountered trouble or, Genitivi’s reports noted grimly, when people were sacrificed to the dragons.

Now the place is majestic. The old Andrastean era architecture was restored faithfully, the marbles on the floor shine as the fire pits burn near the front of the stairs. White and red banners wave proudly next to golden lions and statues of the prophet’s people. Aria would be awestruck, if the circumstances were different.

“The area is up two more flights of stairs and at the end of two winding corridors.” Solas says quietly, “Proceed with caution. When I was here, there were grey wardens patrolling the area.”

“Why were you here?” Aria asks.

“I will admit to some curiosity as well, Solas.” Cassandra whispers as she walks towards the first chamber. “Your missive did come to Leliana and I rather strangely.”

“Ah.” Solas says, “Well, I—”

“Hello?” A new voice in the channel says, interrupting Solas just as he began to explain. “Is Seeker Pentaghast in this channel?”

Cassandra sticks a finger in the air and zips her lips at Varric—who scoffed and raised his arms in the air again.

“Yes. This is she.” Cassandra says. “With whom am I speaking?”

“Evalynne Trevelyan. Cullen told me to tap into this channel—” a crashing sound echoes down the hallway of the temple—and Aria looks ahead.

“The wyvern and the bomb aren’t our only problems.” Evelynne continues, “Cullen, Hawke, their crew and I were going to escort the Divine out of her chambers—but she isn’t here.” 

“What?! What do you mean?” Cassandra whispers harshly, as Varric pulls out his crossbow.

“The Divine is _missing_.” Evelynne says, her tone heavy with exasperation in Cassandra’s ear, “We got to her chambers and instead of finding her, we found a note. The note challenges whoever wants her back to a duel in the ballroom.”

Cassandra curses and grits her teeth before responding.

“I cannot handle this. You must do it yourselves, I am in the middle of—”

Then, out of nowhere, an arrow flies past the Seeker’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This chapter was lots of fun to write, and I'm almost done with my thesis! Thank you for your comments and kudos <3


	3. Steps Taken in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke rushes in, people beat on a weasel dipped in grease, Evalynne rushes out, Cassandra stands guard, and Solas and Aria stand still as Varric saves the day.
> 
> Tw: violence, needles, and drug use.

Hawke is very tired of waiting. 

She’s been at the exalted council for no less than a day, and everything has already gone to shit. First, Varric was dragged here against his will, then the very hot Seeker refused to let him go and then asked her to do something _very impossible,_ Dukes asked her why she destroyed Kirkwall, she had to explain politely that she did not destroy Kirkwall, the bomb showed up, a wyvern was set loose on purpose, and now _this_. The two people that were shoved in her direction when she volunteered to help haven’t stopped bickering since Cullen opened his mouth.

Its more than a little annoying.

There’s only so many times that Hawke can check Twitter and wait for her friend’s updates in the group chat. Anders (dressed in a disguise that Isabela threw together from things in the Exalted Council’s coat closet), Aveline, and Sebastian are outside escorting the nobility off the campus, Varric is off detonating the bomb with the Seeker that kidnapped him, and Hawke is _still waiting for these two to shut up._ She taps her foot impatiently on the ground—but the two continue their onslaught of discourse and having had enough of this—she decides to move. Hawke rushes past Cullen and the snarky red head pressing a manicured hand against the intercom ( _Evalynne?_ Hawke thought, _something like that_ ) to her left, and kicks open the doors to the ballroom—ending the debate that the two began about five minutes ago about whether or not rushing in or sending on person at a time is a good idea.

“Leave it to Hawke to figure out an answer.” Fenris says as he follows Hawke inside, glibly as the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. Hawke turns her head to wink at him. Isabela laughs and Merrill’s face breaks out into a smile— and Hawke smiles too.

_It feels so good to have everyone together again_. Joy bubbles up inside of Hawke’s chest, and despite the annoyance that she was feeling earlier, she feels so grateful that all her loved ones are here. Even if they argue just as bad, if not worse, than the pair behind them.

Hawke turns her head to face the foe in the ballroom— but there’s nobody there. She pivots on the balls of her feet to stare at her friends and their new companions, the templar commander and the royally pissed off noblewoman that they picked up along the way, looking to them for answers. Evalynne raises a brow at Hawke, and Cullen coughs as the awkward silence settles.

“By any chance, do any of you know how many ballrooms there are in the palace?” Hawke asks.

“Twenty-five.” Evalynne, says deadpan. “It’s a palace. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you and Commander Dumbass.”

“Where would they fit twenty-five ballrooms?” Merrill asks, “This building doesn’t look especially big. Unless its underground, but why would the Divine need twenty-five ballrooms?”

“Twenty-five ballrooms…” Isabela muses, putting her daggers back in their sheaths. “Hawke, remind me to install twenty-five ballrooms in your house.”

“This is ridiculous!” Cullen growls, “There are _not_ twenty-five ballrooms—those are now meeting places for the Exalted Council. _This_ is the main ballroom, the one that the Divine set aside for the farewell dinner at the end of the week.”

“That doesn’t mean that they aren’t ballrooms.” Evalynne argues, stepping forward to get closer to Cullen. “For all you know, the bad guys just want to mix you up and buy themselves more time to murder the Divine with.”

“Why would you say something like that?” Cullen says, scowling, “Our goal is to save the Divine!”

“I’m just saying that tactically, it’d be what s _ome_ people would do!” Evalynne snaps, looking up at the commander with rage in her eyes. “What is your problem, anyway? Can’t listen to someone else’s ideas if they don’t involve hitting things?”

“That is _not_ true.”

Hawke sighs.

She looks over to her friends and finds that Fenris is staring daggers at the pair —time with their new companions has clearly run his already very thin patience closer to non-existence. Hawke gives him a sympathetic glance, Carver used to feel the same way in Kirkwall. Merrill looks around the room, shifting around restlessly before setting on staring intently at the large ornate table that was laid out for the Divine to sit at. Isabela is looking around at the room as well, in the opposite direction and at a particularly ornate set of cutleries.

“Enough!” Fenris barks, glaring fiercely at the two, “We don’t have time for your quarrel. We need to find the Divine and whoever kidnapped her—there is no time to take breaks to watch the two of you bicker.” He spits the last word at the two bitterly.

“Fenris is right,” Hawke says. “If this isn’t the right room, then we need to keep moving.”

“Stay out of this.” Evalynne growls, as Merrill begins to call for everyone’s attention.

“Hawke!” Merrill calls, waving a gloved hand in the air. “I think I found something!”

Isabela makes her way towards Merrill, who holds up a piece of paper and says, “It’s another note!” and begins to read it aloud.

_We know you are after the Divine.  
As you know there are twenty-five ballrooms in this palace—_

“What did I tell you?” Evalynne says, triumphantly.

“Maker’s breath.”

_And we have not hidden the Divine in one. What kind of bad guys would we be if we just told you where she’d be? Our own champion will duel you soon—he has a key with him and the name of the room she’s in. Defeat him and you will have the Divine._

“Which means that after we’re done with this battle, we’d have to fight whoever is in the room with her.” Fenris says grimly.

“Oh goodie.” Isabela sighs, “Another duel.”

“Hawke, make sure not to run around this time like you did with the Arishok,” Merrill says helpfully, “I know that’s how you stayed alive last time, but you do have that one spell where you can clap your hands together and paralyze him—that should help.”

“So what?” Cullen says, “We are to wait for this mystery duelist? I say we split up and hunt for the Divine ourselves. This way we can cover more ground and—”

“Oh no,” Evalynne says, “We are _not_ splitting up.”

“I don’t see how we have a choice—” Cullen’s rebuttal is interrupted by a crash, and the slamming of a door. A group of grey wardens and templars accompany the mystery person, who smiles glibly at the stunned group in front of them. His teeth are yellow, and his hair looks like it was slathered in oil before he showed up to face them. The man is clad in a strange suit of armor, wrapped in glowing red crystals and is holding a sword made of the same material in his hands. Hawke’s face pales as she fumbles for her phone to text Varric and Anders. 

“Hawke and Cullen!” The man crows, “It’s good to see the two of you again.”

Cullen frowns and draws his sword and shield, Fenris’ frown finally turns into a smile as he holds his gigantic sword before him, Merrill bites her thumb and the blood that quickly spills out from her finger vanishes into the air as vines gather up around them from out of nowhere, Isabela raises her blades and Evalynne sinks into the shadows, Hawke frowns as she waves her staff around and quickly casts a barrier around the group.

Cullen grits his teeth as he greets their opponent.

“Hello, Samson.”

* * *

Aria finishes casting her barrier as Solas slams a stone fist into the face of the archer who shot at them, Varric fires a bolt from his crossbow as the warden’s body was about to hit the ground—pinning them the marble floor. Cassandra yells, slamming her sword against her shield, and rushes towards their attacker. She smacks them in the nose with the hilt of her weapon and they barely respond—as if the blow of the hit has yet to register, and they try to rise again.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow as she kicks them in the shin, bringing them to the ground.

“Who are you?” She hisses. “What are the grey wardens doing here?”

The warden doesn’t respond as they stare blankly into the Seeker’s eyes—as if entranced by something inside of them. Their mouth begins to move but says nothing.

“I don’t understand.” Cassandra says in a clipped tone. She turns to face Aria, Varric, and Solas—and the three of them don’t know what to say to her. Aria pulls out a small flashlight from a pocket in her robes and flashes it quickly into the eyes of the warden—and their eyes respond normally, but they don’t voice any discomfort. She continues her examination, and Cassandra sighs.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with them.” Aria says as she stands up to face the Seeker, “Their reflexes are fine, they just are not verbally responsive.”

“Perhaps they are possessed.” Cassandra says. “There _is_ a Tevinter magister at work here.”

“Or they could be under some sort of enchantment.” Solas says. “Their visage aside, I sense the presence of powerful magics at work, Seeker. Once again, I urge you to proceed with caution.”

“What, so do we just leave them here?” Varric says, “Like this?”

“I mean, we could try to dispel any magic in the area.” Aria murmurs, “But I don’t know how effective that’d be. Besides, tactically, I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea—I have a feeling that whoever cast this spell would notice that their subordinate is suddenly missing.” Aria shakes her head, “I don’t see how we have any other choice.”

Varric sighs. “I have a feeling that a lot of people are saying that tonight.”

* * *

The battle has been raging for five minutes, and Isabela has a knife pointed at the throat of one of the wardens before Cullen shouts, “No killing!”

“But that’s half the fun!” She whines, “Hawke, tell the nice man that I can kill people!” She glances at Hawke, who slams her hands together to hold Samson in place before turning to Isabela and shrugs as she smiles awkwardly.

“’Bela, killing grey wardens is not exactly kosher to a Ferelden.” Hawke explains. Sighing, Isabela nods at Hawke and incapacitates the warden, who crumples to the ground like an accordion.

“Ooh! Babe, can we still jack their stuff?” Isabela asks, cocking a hip and spinning her blade in her hand before kicking an oncoming warden in the face.  
“Of course, ‘Bela.” Hawke responds—fanning her staff and summoning a wave of ice, “Merrill did you take your iron supplements before the battle? I don’t want you losing too much blood.”

“Yes, I did vhenan!” Merrill shouts as vines ripple across the room, grabbing chairs with dexterous vegetations. Sweat drips down her face as she brings the vines and furniture down on the wardens. “Though I am getting a bit peck-ish. I think we should grab a snack after we’re done.”

“I could eat.” Fenris says, hitting another warden with the blunt side of his massive weapon. Brutal murder is usually Fenris’ style, but he obliged the Ferelden man’s request by _not_ making them meet their maker. They would have to just deal with Fenris, who is arguably worse to meet on the field of battle. The battle rages on for a couple more minutes, Fenris and Isabella begin tying up the wardens together as Merrill rests, before Hawke notices that Cullen has engaged the ex-templar in close combat and starts casting barriers to protect the blonde man that once enraged her.

“So, Cullen,” Samson says, “This is who you’ve allied yourself with? Kirkwall’s destroyer and her band of lovers? You’re doomed. You should have joined us at the side of the elder one—he appreciates the templars and will raise them to heights that the chantry never could.”

“Shut your mouth!” Cullen says, “You’ve failed the templars, you’ve failed the mages— the people under your command suffer because of your selfishness.”

“Aren’t we both selfish?” The man laughs, the sound cold and discordant as blades meet with a clang. “Aren’t we both prey to the same disease? The same blight given to us from the chantry?”

“You and I are nothing alike.” Cullen growls and he swings his blade down into Samson’s shoulder, who cries out and tries to steady his footing as blood spills onto the marble. 

Evalynne appears from out of nowhere and knocks the sword from out Samson’s hands. It falls to the ground with a bang and Evalynne begins to reach for it.

“Don’t touch it!” Hawke screams and she lunges for Evalynne.

* * *

Aria, Cassandra, Solas and Varric make their way to the innermost chamber as quietly as they can—Solas even cast a spell that silenced their footsteps but warned that it will only last for fifteen minutes before he must cast it again. They reach the room without any problems and find that nobody is inside of it.

But the bomb is.

An orb sits on a podium in the center of the room where the sacred ashes used to lie, and it glows mysteriously with a green light that illuminate the wavy texture carved all around it. A complicated puzzle, no doubt packed with explosives, is wrapped around the podium like a snake coiled around its prey. Cassandra closes the door behind them, and Varric coughs.

“So…” Varric says, “I know how to get rid of the, uh, bomb around the podium, but does anyone know what that green orb thing is?”

“Yes and no.” Solas says bluntly and the three other people in the party stare at him in bewilderment, “I have seen its like used by Tevinter magisters in memories I uncovered in the fade.” He explains, “In the wrong hands, this could be a weapon of mass destruction, rendering the fade and all that we know lost to endless chaos.”

“So, after this is done, we must destroy it.” Cassandra says. “No one must have access to this kind of power.”

“I would not be so hasty, Seeker.” Solas says, “Destroying it could also unleash power that could destroy the world. I believe that this warrants further study.” As he says this, Cassandra frowns and her neutral expression turns into one of disapproval and she begins to argue with the apostate before Aria buts in.

“I think we can decide what to do with it after we’re done with the detonation.” Aria interjects, turning to Varric as she says, “If you could—”  
“Yeah, yeah, I can.” Varric says, waving a hand before mouthing ‘thank you’ to her and she smiles. Cassandra seems to argue with everybody.  
“Solas,” Aria says, turning to face the mage, “You said you needed another elven mage—why?”

The corner of Solas’ mouth ( _Oh sweet sylaise_ , Aria thinks as her face begins to flush) lifts slyly as he says, “Our task does not just involve detonation. The magical energy around the orb needs to back into itself—it seems that the magister who left it here had tried once to pry it open to access its power. The both of us must close it together with a technique that the First of each clan learns at the beginning of their training.”

“The one that helps us clean the halla or the breathing techniques?” She asks, before her brows furrow together in confusion. “Wait, how do you know about what Dalish magic practices, much less what a First knows?”

Solas smiles, “I have had encounters with your people before, and friends of mine in the fade have told me how they achieve their magical prowess.”

Aria frowns, “They’re your people too, Solas.”

“Can’t anyone in this room just play nice?” Varric says harshly from his station—plucking at a series of wires as Aria sighs and Solas looks at Varric disapprovingly.  
“I will stand guard by the door.” Cassandra announces as she steps closer to the room’s entrance. “The two of you must work on sealing the orb, then we must take it and leave as soon as possible before whoever left it here returns.”

“Agreed.” Solas says to Cassandra before his shifts his gaze back to Aria, “Ms. Lavellan, the breathing technique, as you put it, ‘one with nature’ is what we’ll be using to channel its energy back into itself. The two of us will stand opposite the other and channel the energy into a whirlpool back into itself using our wills. The work will immobilize us both as we cast it—but if we start now it should only take us twenty minutes to finish.”

Aria nods and Solas gestures towards the podium that Varric is kneeling in front of, consulting a manual as he works to detonate the device quickly. The two stands on opposite sides of the podium and ready themselves for what will probably be a long experience—Aria breathes in and out again to clear the anxiety from her mind, but her thoughts turn to worry for everyone’s safety.

“Seeker Cassandra,” Aria says as the woman’s head turns towards her, “Maybe I shouldn’t ask this, but will you be able to handle any interruptions on your own?”

Cassandra smiles. “I should be fine, my lady. But I would prefer if all three of you finish your work quickly.”

Aria smiles wanly and stretches out her palms towards the orb. Solas grabs her hands. His hands feel warm and rougher than she initially thought they’d be, as she hadn’t pegged him for a guy whose hands have done anything besides grab his staff, turn pages, and paint.

“Take a deep breath,” He says, and as he speaks the tension in her shoulders begins to melt, “And use your will to shape the energy around the orb into a vortex, funneling it back into itself. The raw chaotic energy will startle you at first, but I assure you that so long as I am here, no matter how tumultuous the situation,” and he grips her hands tighter in his own, “the both of us will make it out safely.”

Aria smiles at him, and for just a couple of seconds he looks at her as if he was jolted by a bit of static, then he smiles back.

Varric grumbles from under the podium, “Do we need to give the two of you some room?” and the Seeker laughs as Aria's face flushes.

* * *

Evalynne lunges up from under Samson and brings her fist to his jaw. Hawke, relieved that the lyrium weapon has gone untouched, stands her ground as she and Merrill begin to wrap his arms, legs, and neck in a casing of rock and vine—immobilizing him until they release their wills. Fenris and Isabela join Evalynne and Cullen—who are kneeling by the side of the weasel faced man. Isabella shuffle’s slightly as she begins to inspect his pockets and produces a key and his wallet.

“I’ll be keeping this, if you all don’t mind.” She says, tucking it into her admiral’s coat and Cullen sighs, figuring that arguing with the self-proclaimed pirate queen was going to give him a headache. 

Evalynne points the edge of her dagger to the side of Samson’s face and he laughs. “Tell me where the Divine is,” Evalynne says in a tone of voice that borders on the edge of shouting, “Or I won’t just skin you alive, I’ll deprive you of lyrium for the rest of your maker damned existence.”

“I have to admit Hawke, I like her style.” Fenris says dryly.   
  
Hawke tightens the rock's grip on Samson, “Tell her what you know!” She says.

“The Divine is in the basement.” Samson says in a dazed tone of voice, writhing as the discomfort settles in. “My master awaits you downstairs—he wants,” and as he speaks Merrill’s vines begin to wrap around his face, “He wants an audience for her murder and has the empress and kings and queen of Ferelden—along with the chantry’s heads with them. He also wants the champion there, payment for what happened last time they met—and if I beat her, I was to drag her down there alive myself.”

“We've met?” Hawke says, confused as Fenris raises a brow. "We have met many magisters." He says, "Though not many of them live to see another day." 

Samson shakes his head, “Why am I telling you all of this?”

Everyone turns to look at Isabela, who smiles and shrugs.

“I gave him a dose of a truth serum while I was picking his pockets.” She says, shamelessly as she pulls out a vial and a used needle from her back pockets. "I believe in responsible disposal though, so I was gonna toss it in the bathroom." She adds, as Evalynne's palm meets her face. 

“Its true, I felt her prick me.” Samson says immediately after Isabela.

“Isabela!” Hawke says, with a theatrical gasp, “How could you?”

Cullen shakes his head, “Where did you even get such a concoction?”

Isabela shrugs again before pointing at Merrill.

“I made it,” Merrill admits sheepishly, “On accident I swear! The qunari left behind dangerous magic things and because so many magical shenanigans were happening, I couldn't leave it behind. I also wanted to give them a study, and in the process I made a truth serum out of their poison. Though, I didn’t know it’d come in handy at the time, but Hakwe told us before we left to be prepared for anything, especially violence, so I brought a bit of it with before I made my way here with Fenris.”

“The witch speaks the truth.” Fenris says, nodding at Cullen—whose jaw is slightly agape. “Though, Merrill, judging by what you wrote to me in your last letter it works much faster than you estimated it would. Well done.”

“Aww, Fenris!” Hawke, Isabela, and Merrill chime in chorus.

“Enough!” Evalynne says, frustrated, and puts her daggers back in their sheathe as she rises. “I’m going down to the basement. I suggest you dispose of him,” she says, jutting her chin down at Samson before dusting herself off, “before he rats you out to his magister. Are any of you coming with?”

“I thought splitting apart was a bad idea?” Cullen says in a challenging tone and Evalynne groans.

“Look, I’m sorry I said that okay?” She says, “I don’t regret it, but I am sorry that it was poorly put. Can we just move past it and save the Divine?”

“That’s not much of an apology,” Hawke points out, “But it is honest. We’re going to stay and get Samson on a caravan or something since he’s probably going to jail for breaking like a million laws.”

Cullen lets out a breath, “Just get him to the Inquisition’s carts, they’ll know what to do with him.”

“I’m still not doing the thing by the way.” Hawke says sharply, “I’m very pro-mage.”

“Yes, we’re aware." Cullen sighs before adding, "By the way, the Inquisition has yet to declare an official stance on the mage/templar conflict.”   
  
His eyes meet Evalynne's, who always seems to be perpetually disapproving. “My apologies for my conduct, my lady. I will go with you.” Cullen’s expression, already serious, already furious, turns grim as he rises—standing a head taller than Evalynne herself.

“What is your masters name?” He barks at Samson.

“Corypheus.” He groans and Hawke scoffs before throwing her hands in the air and shouts, “No way, I definitely killed him!”

“Well,” Evalynne says, with a glint in her eyes, “I suppose it’s time to pay him a visit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update-- I graduated from uni this weekend lmao I spent the day daydrinking and talking to friends about our depressing job prospects and podcasts 
> 
> I am one of those people whose headcanon is that Hawke is most def polyamorous and is dating everyone (except Aveline, who approves and does not slut shame Isabela),,, give me polyamory Bioware!!! Also at some point after DA2 Fenris and Merrill become friends, i don't make the rules. Also, a baby mention of Anders, who did not get shanked! More to come about him and the DA2 gang.
> 
> If you like what you see pls feel free to leave kudos and comments!! I'm always looking to improve my writing-- also thanks to @elvhxn and @lmao_thvnder for being the best mutuals <3 <3


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